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“Yet you have every right to comment on someone else’s?” Jay hissed back, a small speck of spit flying from his mouth as he pointed to the crowd of girls completely oblivious to the scene taking place on the porch. Not like it was anything interesting compared to the rowdy party around them, the blaring music echoing off the river beyond the house.
“I was just stating a fact,” she said tightly.
“And I was too,” Jay said, emphasizing the last word. “You’re clearly just jealous because you look absolutely nothing like them.”
“Hey, this is getting out of hand,” Tyler said coolly, reaching his free hand to gently grab Rory’s wrist, his face sternly on Jay. “You’ve both been drinking—you’re saying things you don’t mean.”
“Oh, I mean it,” Jay said.
“I hate you,” Rory said curtly.
“Only because I speak the truth.”
Without thinking, she jerked her hand away from Tyler’s grasp and lunged at Jay, slapping the same left cheek that held a coy smirk just minutes before.
She was seething—the ringing in her ears overpowering whatever Jay was now screaming at her, muffled only by Tyler, who now stood between the two of them. He barked something in Jay’s direction before snatching her hand and pulling hard. Her vision was blurry from the tears pooling in her eyes as he led her down the porch steps and around the house.
Tyler wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and lifted her up into the passenger seat of his Jeep, slamming the car door next to her. He hopped in on the other side, shoving the water bottle right at Rory’s chest. “Drink that. Now.”
She silently obeyed as Tyler switched on the ignition and pulled out at lightning speed, climbing back up the road they came from just an hour earlier. She remained silent as he turned onto Main Street and drove past Scoops and Grampy’s and sleepy late-night moviegoers stepping out of Haverport Cinemas.
Moments later, they rolled through the main entrance of the Misty Bay beach community. Tyler turned the car down Chestnut Road, then pulled into the driveway of his house and killed the ignition. Rory didn’t say anything as she twisted the empty water bottle in her hand, the popping and cracking sound of the plastic satisfying her need to squeeze and break something.
“He didn’t mean it,” Tyler said as if reading her mind.
“Yes, he did,” she whispered. “And he’s right; I’m nothing like them.”
Tyler twisted in his seat, now facing her. “So what? Why do you care so much? What’s the—”
But then he stopped. She watched as understanding shifted his expression. His eyebrows furrowed with this new truth.
“He’s an idiot,” Tyler said, loud enough that she was almost worried they would wake his parents, his voice carrying from the open car window to his house in front of him. Her own was right next door, but it wasn’t like it mattered much for her—her mom probably wasn’t even home. “Why do you bother with him? He’s an asshole to literally everyone.”
“Not always to me,” she responded, her words coming out short and tight. She was trying not to cry in front of him again.
“And what? He’s nice to you five percent of the time, and it’s worth the rest of the time he’s a complete shithead? You don’t deserve that, Ry.”
Her nostrils flared. “Why do you care so much about what I deserve, huh?”
Tyler rubbed his hand over his face and let out an exhale before continuing. “Because…because I do.”
She huffed. “You don’t see me chewing into you about the girls you like.”
Tyler lifted his arms in frustration. “What girls? There are none!”
“Yeah right,” Rory said, opening the passenger door. “Do yourself a favor and stay out of my personal life, ’kay? Because you’re not invited.”
“Oh, so the whole ‘best friends forever’ thing was all bullshit to you then?”
Rory threw the bottle at him, but the action had no effect on Tyler as it lightly bounced off his broad shoulder.
“Best friends are supportive,” Rory spewed. “And right now, you’re just being a dick.”
First Semester
Chapter One
Four of them stood there, staring at the ice cream shop. Everything was completely bare; the shop was spotless for the first time since opening in March. The walk-in fridge and ice cream cake freezers were empty. Candy containers and hot fudge canisters cleaned and stored away. No more rainbow jimmies or crushed-up waffle cones scattered on the floor. No more snaking lines or bulging tip jars or music blasting in The War Room. Just silence, and the faint smell of bleach.
